


Traveling Soldier

by RoselynneSummers



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simonverse | Creekwood Series - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Alternate Universe - Simon Moves South, Coming Out, First Love, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, long distance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-27 15:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17164715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoselynneSummers/pseuds/RoselynneSummers
Summary: Bram is a new army recruit on his way to Fort Benning. Simon is his waiter at a Waffle House along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic while writing the last one, All Too Well, but needed some time to flesh out how this one would work out. I figured I’d try writing first person, but it’s my first time so any feedback is welcome! I hope you enjoy!

“Morgan will kill me if she finds out I gave you red meat.” I say to Morgan’s dad. He peers at me from under the bill of his mesh camouflage hat. He reaches up and takes my guest check notepad out of my hands and starts to write on it.

“Well, that’s why she’s not going to find out.” When he hands me the notepad back I see he’s scribbled _5 oz Sirloin - Medium Rare_ in barely legible handwriting. He throws me a sideways smirk, “Thank you.”

I sigh. For a skinny older dude, her dad can be intimidating. Maybe it’s just the fact that he owns a gun shop on South Main Street. For some reason everyone in this God-forsaken town owns a gun, as if there’s an inverse proportion between the number of stoplights in your town and the number of guns people own. I can’t remember one person who owned a gun in Shady Creek. In this town, I can’t think of anyone, other than my family, who doesn’t.

“Well,” I huff, “you didn’t write what side you want.”

“Hashbrowns.” He pauses. “Smothered, covered, chunked, and topped.”

“Now you’re just trying to make a point.” My dad laughs and slaps his knee. “Give him regular hashbrowns before his heart explodes out of his chest.”

I walk away from the table and leave my dad, Morgan’s dad, and a few other dads to grumble about heart medication. From what I gather Morgan’s dad isn’t dieting like he should so his family is all on top of him all the time. He’s acting like they’re being unreasonable, but I know he just had a heart attack a few months ago. I don’t want him to be unhealthy, but I also don’t feel like dealing with him being all mad at me for trying to extend his life. So, instead of changing his order like dad said, I just hang the check up at the cook’s counter.

“Bobby!” I shout over country music blaring from his decades old portable FM radio. “Bobby!”

“What!?’ Bobby turns to me. This is how we communicate. I nag him about orders and he cooks them and speaks to me in one or two word chunks.

“Hey, beautiful,” I smile. He’s not beautiful. But I like pissing him off. “I know that steak says medium rare, but cook it well done. And give him a half order of hashbrowns and half of all the toppings.” 

“Why?”

“Because not everyone can be 400 lbs with no heart disease and as handsome as you.” 

Bobby shrugs and goes back to work over the flat top grill while humming along to some Tim McGraw song that peaked in popularity before I was old enough to spell his name.

I grab a pitcher of water and a ketchup bottle on my way back to check on the tables. I drop off the ketchup to a table full of truckers who just got unloaded in Savannah. They stopped here to get some food before going back to their logging site in Adrian to load up and haul off again. That’s the majority of who I serve during each and every one of my shifts. A bunch of truckers hauling wood, soybeans, fertilizer, and peanuts up and down I-16. The monotony of it all seems like it would drive me insane, but monotony seems to be the status quo around here.

I used to live in Shady Creek, right outside of Atlanta. It wasn’t a bustling metropolis to grow up in, but there was always something to pass the time. Now I live in Adaline, a small interstate town nestled in a county known for it’s 600 miles of dirt roads. It’s literally like they want the whole state to know they were too lazy to pave all of their roads.

“If y’all finish this bottle too I’m charging you extra,” I say jokingly as I pass by to fill up the waters at my dad’s table. I make my way back to the service bar and start rinsing off dishes and sticking them in the small dishwasher by the sinks under the bar. There’s not much to do with only two tables occupied, so once I’m done with the dishes I start flinging half-empty ketchup bottles like I’m a bartender in Coyote Ugly. 

Before long the door chime rings and in walks my next victim. I mean, customer. My mind is all over the place today.

“Hey,” he says to me as he takes a seat on the barstool in front me, “is it okay to sit here?”

If this were Leah talking to me, I’d insert some smart ass comment. But since I don’t know this guy I have to be polite, “Sure! Welcome to Waffle House.” I grab one of the cheap laminated menus and make sure it’s not sticky from spilled soda then grab a set of flatware rolled up in a paper napkin. I place all of it in front of him.

“Thanks.” He grins slightly, a glimmer of bright teeth peeking out between his lips.

“No problem,” I lean forward on the counter, “I rolled those myself and wiped that menu off special for you. So, that’ll be an extra 10% on the tip if you don’t mind.” 

“Alright,” he laughs lightly. He looks like he doesn’t know what to say next. Which is funny, because he doesn’t have to say anything. Usually new customers just go straight to the menu and I walk away, but this guy looks like he wants to talk. “So, this is the Waffle House?” 

I nod, “Yeah. If the finely crafted road sign outside didn’t tell you that then this top-of-the-line menu will.”

He laughs more earnestly this time. I love it when jokes land. I’m pretty awkward as a human being so it happens rarely. Being a server and getting paid to talk to people sounded like my worst nightmare, but it’s gotten me better at striking up conversation with people.

“Can I just have a coffee?” He asks as he tucks his hands into the pockets of his US Army hoodie.

I nod and return shortly after with his coffee. I sit it down in front of him and stay there, leaning on the counter.

“You, sir,” I begin, “are in luck. There’s pretty much no one in here and my tables don’t need anything. You’re the most interesting person in here so you get to deal with me.”

He shrugs, “That’s cool I guess.”

“I’m guessing you’re not from around here.”

“Did my lack of an accent or my hoodie give it away?”

“Both really,” I say, “and the fact that I don’t think you’ve ever been to a Waffle House before.”

“I haven’t,” he replies, “but I’ve seen them almost everywhere since I got here.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long,” he answers, “I just flew into Savannah yesterday. I’m from California originally.”

I look over him one more time. “You don’t really strike me as a Los Angeles type.”

“I’m not. I’m from Northern California, not too far from Sacramento. Less beach, more trees.”

“That’s basically the tag line of this town. You should feel right at home here.” I take another look at his hoodie. “So, you’re in the Army?”

“Yep, I’m going to basic training at Fort Benning.”

“Some guys from my high school did their basic training there. Why are you here and not on a bus to go get a buzz cut and bigger muscles?”

He takes a moment to look at his arms, almost as if to check to see if his muscles were still there and I overlooked them. It’s pretty funny. “Our bus broke down,” he says once he’s finished looking over himself, “And my muscles are big enough already.”

I laugh, “Sure, big guy.”

Bobby rings his bell signaling that the dads’ orders are ready.

“Well,” I continue, “if you and your coffee get bored I’ll be around.”

Bobby rings the bell again.

“You’re the first person I’ve had this long of a conversation with since I left California. Feel free to stop by.”

“SIMON!” Bobby exclaims.

I turn around and glare at him. “I’m RIGHT HERE! Do you think I can’t hear the bell in the literal five feet between me and it?” Bobby and I argue like a married couple, pretty much like all of the servers here do. I continue my focused glare straight at him as I line the plates up on my arm and layer two on my hand. By the time I’ve laid them all down in front of the dads the door chimes again and in walks Morgan, closely followed by Leah and Abby.

“Daddy!” Morgan exclaims as she walks up to him, but then her tone changes abruptly to scolding, “DADDY!” She grabs his plate from in front of him and walks back behind the service counter directly to the cook’s line. “Bobby, take this back and give him a grilled chicken breast with steamed veggies on the side. No salt.” She pecks him quickly on the cheek, “Thanks, Bobby!”

“Did you call her?” His eyes are locked on me, but Morgan makes her way back over to interrupt his stare.

“No,” she says, “he didn’t call me. I saw your truck outside and I thought I’d come say hey.”

He rolls his eyes at her, “Hey.”

She rolls her eyes back at him, “Hey.” Then she grabs my hand and pulls me back to the service bar, “Sorry about that.”

“Now I’m going to be lucky to get 10% off him!”

“Onto less depressing news,” Abby speaks up, “are you coming tonight? Nick said you’re not texting him back and you know how he queens out whenever the two of you are apart for too long.”

I grin, “Yeah, sorry, my phone’s been dead all day. I’ll be there.”

Morgan smiles, “Yay! But seriously, sometimes I wonder about the two of you. You need to hurry up and get a girlfriend before he leaves Abby for you.”

Leah giggles softly, “Don’t forget it’s at Martin’s dad’s timber yard out near Ebenezer Baptist Church. Everyone’s too scared to have it in a field again because of how much Derek’s family freaked out when they caught us last time.”

“I have no idea why they’d be mad about a bunch of minors smoking pot and drinking on their property.” I say sarcastically.

They laugh and start to head towards the door, but not before Morgan catches a glimpse of the army recruit sitting at the counter. I had all but forgotten about him until I saw her eyes zero in on him. She steps backwards towards me directly in line with how she was walking away, her neck perched like a predator stalking its prey.

“Who is that hottie!?” She half whispers.

“He’s not staying. He’s an army recruit on the way to Fort Benning. His bus broke down somewhere near here off of I-16.”

“Let me make sure I’m clear on this,” Morgan signals for the other two to join them, “there’s a bus load of army boys stranded up the road?”

“Morgan, bye!” I playfully push her along the tile towards the door with Leah and Abby in tow. By the time they’ve made it out of the door Morgan’s dad’s new food is ready and the truckers are ready to cash out. Once I’ve dropped his food and cleared the trucker’s table I make my way back to the service bar and post up near the new guy again.

“Miss me?”

“Not really,” he says, a slight smirk at the edge of his mouth. 

“I would feign shock but I have a feeling you’d see right through it.” I say, “You may have some surprise guests at the bus when you get back.”

“Those girls?” He motions over to where we were standing and chatting. “They looked like fun. When I left it was just a bunch of grumpy dudes trying to occupy their time in this Georgia heat, I’m sure it’ll be a relief.”

“Most of the town is guaranteed to be at that bus with the three of them knowing about it.” 

There’s a silence between us for a moment until he reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, “I guess I’d better head back before I miss too much of the action.” 

I hold up my hand, “Your money’s no good here. A cup of coffee is the least I can do.”

“Well thanks.” He stands up, “I’m Bram, by the way.”

“Simon.” He reaches out to shake my hand and I oblige. His grip is strong, a lot stronger than what you’d assume by looking at him. He makes his way towards the door, but stops for a moment and looks back at me. 

“Will I see you at the bus?”

There’s something with the way he says _you_ in his sentence. I can’t quite place what that something is.

“They wouldn’t let me miss it.”

He smiles, nods, and walks out the door.

Thankfully, I don’t have enough time to overprocess his asking if he will see me there because the dads are up and ready to cash out. My dad tips me double what his meal was worth, as usual, and the rest are pretty generous as well. Once it’s Morgan’s dad’s turn I force toothless smile.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“No.” He says flatly, but he still tips me well.

Once they’re out and the restaurant is empty I revert to counting down the minutes until my shift is over. When I clocked in this morning my only plan was to harass Abby, Nick, or Leah until they were forced into hanging out with me until the field party. But now, I guess I’ll spend my afternoon hanging out with a bunch of stranded army recruits, one of which I find particularly interesting. I’m not sure why, but I’m actually excited to get to see him again. 

Well, I guess I shouldn’t lie. I know why I’m excited to see him again. He’s cute, somewhat easy to talk to, and he said he wanted to see me again. No one in this town, or this world really, knows that I’m gay, but maybe this guy does somehow. Or maybe he’s just really nice. I guess I’ll just have to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

I don’t know what I thought I’d see when I finally found the bus, but reality definitely exceeded my expectations. The bus is parked just down from the on ramp to the interstate on the side of the road. The roads aren’t very wide here, so the driver had to pull deep into the dull green grass filling the space between the road and the woods. It’s no more than a 5 minute drive from Waffle House, which means Bram had to walk at least 20 minutes to get his coffee earlier.

I can see why he needed to get away. It’s over 100 degrees outside, probably higher with the humidity, and the bus isn’t just broken down. It’s dead. There’s still faint trails of gray-ish black smoke trailing it’s way from the grill in the front up to the clear sky. No AC, lack-luster cell signal, nothing but dudes who barely know each other...that couldn’t have been a good time.

Now, however, is a different story.

There’s at least ten trucks parked in some area of the grass on either side of the road. Each one with its windows down, tailgates open, blasting 95.9 FM. It’s the only radio station you can pick up in Adaline and it plays nothing but country music. There’s coolers scattered around and I can easily spot the kids from my high school mixing in with the recruits. Most of the recruits are dressed in some dark color tee and pants. Everyone else is decked out for summer, a literal sea of shorts, sunglasses, spaghetti straps or bikini tops, Rainbows and the occasional boot.

I spot Leah’s Silverado and pull my Subaru up to park by her. Her dad surprised her with it for her 16th birthday. I’m not sure if was the multi-colored hair, anime sketches or her alt-rock music preference that he missed, but I’m glad he did, because I get to see her drive around a cherry red brand new crew cab each day.

I hop out of my car and start making my way around. A few girls from our class are hanging out in the back of Leah’s truck, but she’s nowhere to be found. I pass by some guys in the class above us throwing a football with a couple of army recruits. There’s great people watching to be had here, but I need a social crutch stat or my weird will escalate to supernatural levels.

Once I’ve made it near the bus I spot a streak of pale blue in a girl’s bun and rush immediately over.

“Y’all showed up,” I say, “and showed out.”

Leah had found a spot in the shade of the bus to check her phone, or more likely use it to avoid talking to most of the people here.

“Morgan wasted no time.” Leah waves her hand around at the spectacle in front of us, “It’s the middle of summer and no one has anything to do. So, text the entire high school and you have a day-party.”

“Majestic.”

“Too much.”

“You’re right.”

“I always am.” Leah smiles and leans against me, adjusting the waistband of her shorts. That’s her subconscious tic that signals she’s uncomfortable in what she’s wearing.

“You look great.” I say. “I think the actual way to describe you would be ‘dayum girl!’”

She jabs me in the ribs, but a smile stretches across her face.

“There you are.”

I hear Bram’s voice from my right and turn away from Leah to spot him walking up. The hoodie is gone and he’s in a snug crew neck that’s an odd color somewhere between green and brown.

“Here I am.” I try to match his tone. I instantly feel a little stupid, because his voice is at least an octave deeper than mine. I even catch a quick side-eye from Leah.

Once he’s made his way up to us we all stand there silently for a second. Turns out there’s not much to say when I’m not making quips about coffee and plastic restaurant menus.

“I met Leah,” Bram says, “she educated me on the difference between Gatorade and Powerade.”

Leah nods, “God forbid you drink Gatorade in Bulldawg country.”

“She also told me what Bulldawg country is.”

Bulldawg country. A vast swath of the state of Georgia that gear up in red and black to root for the Georgia Bulldogs each year, along with their various insults for every other college team and refusal to wear any shade of orange.

“No big college teams where you’re from?’ I ask. “College football is essentially religion around here.”

“And on the sixth day God created the pig-skin football,” Leah amps up her southern drawl, “so man could rest on the seventh with wings and beer.” She’s staring into her phone as she throws that little bit of shade.

Bram shrugs, “I mean, we have USC and Cal and Sanford. I didn’t really follow any of it.”

“What do you follow?” I ask

“Soccer.” He replies. “I’m a huge soccer fan.”

“While y’all talk sports,” Leah speaks up, “I’m going to go make sure no one’s made off with my truck. Simon, find me before you leave.”

I nod as Leah walks away. Bram’s now leaned up against the bus in the same spot she was. It’s somewhat innocuous, but I’m getting the feeling he’d rather be talking to me than anyone else here. Maybe it’s because we’ve already met. Actually, that’s definitely what it is. What other reason could there be?

“That’s rare down here.” I say. I want to make a joke about soccer calves, but I'm not sure where that would end up. “Isn’t it boring? They hardly ever score.”

That does the trick. I don’t have to worry about making small talk because Bram bursts into a near-rant about why soccer is the best sport to play and to watch. I playfully throw in a football comparison here and there to make it seem like I know something about athletics, but it’s mostly just to get him worked up.

Before I know it, we’re sitting on someone’s tailgate tapping two Powerade bottles together.

“Well,” he says, “we can agree to disagree. As long as we agree that I’m right.”

“I’m not good at being wrong,” I say, “but since you’re going to go off and defend our country and all that I guess I can let it go this once.”

“Soccer is better.” Bram takes a sip from his Powerade. A drip of the red liquid escapes the seal between his bottle and his mouth and trails down his lower lip, to his chin, and plops onto his shirt.

I’m not sure why I’m paying so much attention to his lips, but I choose to over correct with a jab. “Well I’m glad you’re good at soccer because you can’t drink for shit.” Too aggressive?

He bursts out laughing and I allow myself a pleased grin. “Yeah, I guess so.” His laugh subsides and we’re left in silence for a moment, aside from the sounds of the people around us and Kacey Musgraves playing through the truck’s radio.

“So,” I say after a moment, “why the military?” Maybe that’s too deep, but I’m authentically curious. I wouldn’t say I’m anti-military or anti-troop. I figure we have to support people serving our country. I am, however, anti-war and don’t really trust our president. I’m one of the few around here who think that way, so I keep that to myself.

“Wow,” Bram reaches a hand behind him and stretches out, “that’s a very long story.”

“Sorry,” I say, “I’m not good with silences.”

“Don’t apologize.” Bram replies, returning to sit upright. “The basic answer is that my dad was in the military, so was my pa.” He chucked. “Sorry, my grandfather.”

“I bet they’re both very proud of you.”

“I hope so.”

That was kind of a weird response. I don’t have a chance to follow up because there’s a guy calling for the attention of all of the recruits. They begin to filter back towards the bus and collect in a semi-circle around him. I’m guessing he’s the one in charge. He’s built like someone who’s been in the army for a while.

“Bad news, boys,” he says. His tone matches what I would expect. “This bus ain’t gonna get fixed today and the depot don’t have another one to send our way. They’re towing this to a shop in this shithole and we’re getting some motel rooms for the night.”

“This shithole is called Adaline.” I immediately recognize Morgan’s voice even though I can’t see her. That elicits a chuckle from everyone.

Now, the logistics take over. There’s about 20 recruits and we all pitch in to get their bags loaded up into the trucks and everyone splits up to drive down to the Pine Tree Inn.

I’m not kidding. The place is literally named after pine trees. And you’d probably get about as good of a night’s rest sleeping in a pine tree as you would at this place.

Bram loads up in my car and throws his duffle bag into the back seat. I pull out at the end of the procession heading towards the motel. We’re not heading towards a funeral, but I’m kind of bummed that my time with Bram is over. He’s the first new person I’ve met since I moved here a year ago and my curiosity is gnawing at the edges of my brain. I want to know more about him, but I don’t really see how that can happen.

We’re sitting in comfortable silence on the short drive to the motel. He’s got his hand out the window, looping it up and down through the wind while staring at the scenery passing by.

“Who knew a couple of gas stations, restaurants, and trees could be so interesting.” I say.

Bram looks over at me. His eyes seem slightly unfocused, almost sleepy. “It’s kind of quaint, right?” He pauses. “I mean, woods as far as you can see, country music, humid heat...I kind of feel like I’m in a different part of the world.”

“You are.” I reply, “but it’s not as picturesque once you’ve lived here for a while.”

I’ve got my eyes on the road, staring at the blinker on the F-150 in front of me signaling a right turn. We’ve arrived at the motel and the line of vehicles are starting to pull in and drop off their passengers.

Once I’ve parked I let my eyes turn to Bram. He’s looking back at me. Has he been looking at me for the whole drive?

“Well,” I begin, “your tour of Adaline is over and here’s your final destination.”

He smiles, “Really? That’s it? Just the stuff down by the interstate?”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s houses, a couple of feed mills, logging yards, and the school. But yeah, that’s our bustling downtown area. Unless you count the Dollar General on the other side of Main Street.”

He laughs. I can’t tell if he just laughs easily or actually finds me funny. “Well, thanks. It was good to get to know you, Simon.”

That sounded formal. “It was good to get to know you too, Bram.” I return the formality and he laughs again.

“Sorry, was that weird?” He asks.

“No,” I shake my head. “It was very much a period.” I can tell by the crease between his eyebrows that my words didn’t make much sense. “You know, like a full stop. Periods end sentences. You stopped our conversation. I mean, you didn’t stop it, but it’s like over, I guess…”

“I get it.” I notice his brown eyes. They seem to be studying me, or he could just be trying to figure out a way to escape from this situation that I’ve clearly made really awkward.

“Well…” I trail off.

“Bye?”

“Is that a question?”

“I don’t know!” Bram eases the air in the car with an exasperated laugh. “I’m really bad at this.”

“What?”

“I’m never going to see you again,” he says, “but you’ve been super nice and made what could have been a horrible day somewhat bearable. I guess I should say thank you.”

I nod, “You’re welcome. I mean, you could come to the field party tonight. Didn’t that guy say you all are here for the night?”

Bram nods, “He did. I’m not sure we’re allowed to go out though. I think the only reason all of you were allowed to be at the bus earlier was because there wasn’t an alternative. I can’t imagine them being okay with a bunch of us going out for a party, with a bunch of high schoolers, who will probably be drinking.”

“Okay, old man.” I say. “You’re what? 18?”

“Yeah, and?”

“You were JUST in high school a month ago.”

“But I’m much older and much more refined now.”

“Do they let you bring cell phone to basic training?”

Bram nods and pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m not sure if we get to use them, though.”

I ask for his number and he obliges. I send him a quick text message so he has my number and to make a point. When his phone vibrates he reads the text out loud.

“It’s always better to ask for forgiveness than permission.” He puts his phone down. “Hmmm…”

“All I’m saying is if you want to sneak out for one last hoorah before basic, just text me. I’ll come pick you up.”

Another recruit, his head already shaved bald, slaps the top of my car on the passenger side.

“You’re Bram right?” He peeks into the car and gives me a nod before looking back to Bram. “We’re roommates for the night.”

“Oh, alright.” Bram stuffs his phone in his pocket and grabs his bag from the backseat. “Thanks, again, Simon.” He hops out quickly and follows the guy to their room. I watch as they open the door to their room and step in. Once the door shuts behind them I start to drive off, but get a text before I’m back on the road.

_ Bram: I think I’m going to have to ask for forgiveness. When should I be ready tonight? _


End file.
